


Perfection

by Claire



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Light Dom/sub, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-04
Updated: 2016-01-04
Packaged: 2018-05-11 14:52:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5630542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Claire/pseuds/Claire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint can't help the shiver of pleasure that runs through him at Phil's words, at the soft tone in Phil's voice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perfection

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hiddencait](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hiddencait/gifts).



Clint raises his head slightly as Phil approaches, keeping his gaze lowered as the black trouser-clad legs stop in front of him.

"Such a beautiful boy," Phil says, and Clint can't help the shiver of pleasure that runs through him at Phil's words, at the soft tone in Phil's voice.

And it took him a long time to believe the words when Phil said them, because when he looks in a mirror the words he thinks are anything but beautiful. He's not soft enough to be beautiful, the work he puts into his body as a SHIELD agent and an Avenger keeping him fit and muscled. And there are too many marks, too many scars. The knife wound from Belize, the time a bullet grazed his arm in Budapest, the scar from the acid attack from the mission in Arkansas. All of them add up to tell Clint's history, but none of them have ever added up to beautiful. Not until Phil.

Phil loves the scars on Clint's skin. "Because they tell me you survived," Phil tells him, as he presses a kiss to each and every one of them. "You survived to be here with me."

And here Clint is. In their rooms in Stark Tower, with JARVIS on blackout mode and the lights of New York shining in through the window that stretches the length of the room. The carpet is soft under Clint's knees, and he wonders if Tony chose this specially for them, wonders if Tony knows what it's like to wait for that one perfect touch. (Because Clint sees him with Pepper, sees the way her touch grounds Tony like nothing else seems to.)

Clint's hands are behind his back, his fingers linked together. And Phil used to bind him, used to wind rope around his arms, or place cuffs around his wrists, in order to keep Clint's arms behind him. But now it only takes a word and Clint will hold himself steady for Phil.

"Free my cock, Clint." Phil's order is soft, but it would only need a whisper for Clint to obey this man.

"May I use my hands, sir?" The honorific comes easily, the same and yet different from when they are Coulson and Barton. That 'sir' implies trust and belief, implies the knowledge that Barton has that Coulson will always have his back, will always be there with the words in his ear, with another way out, with the order to fire. But this one? This one implies so much more.

"You may," Phil replies, and Clint unlinks his hands, reaches out for Phil's belt, for his trousers.

It's the work of seconds to release Phil's already hard cock, trousers opened and boxers pulled carefully down.

"Now suck me," says Phil.

And Clint has wanted this moment since he sank to his knees, since he knew that Phil was putting him into the perfect position. Because Clint loves this, loves the feel of Phil of his tongue, heavy and hot. He loves the way that people assume that because he's the one on his knees, because he's the one calling Phil 'sir', that he's the one without any power. He used to think that himself, until Phil took Clint's face in his hands and told him that Clint had all the power.

"It will always be your choice, Clint. And that you choose to do this, choose to gift yourself to me in this way is something I will never take for granted. You are perfect, Clint. And I am nothing but grateful that I'm the one you chose to trust yourself to."

And so he does this now. He leans forward and takes Phil's cock into his mouth. And he's good at this, he knows he is. He's good at being on his knees for Phil, good at taking Phil apart with teeth and tongue and lips, until Phil's hands are tangling in his hair and there are little stuttered groans telling Clint that Phil is seconds away from coming.

Phil tugs gently on Clint's hair, a soft warning that he always gives, allowing Clint the choice to pull away, but he never does. Sucking harder, Clint flicks his tongue over the head of Phil's cock, and there's a beat, two, until Phil shudders and there's a bitter flood washing over Clint's tongue. He swallows Phil down, keeping Phil's cock inside him until there's nothing else to take, feeling it start to soften on his tongue.

Pulling his head back slowly, Clint let's Phil's cock fall from his mouth, darting forward to place a quick kiss at the base before looking up at Phil and grinning.

"Perfect," Phil says, his hand reaching out to card through Clint's hair, as Clint moves forward, ignoring the throbbing at his own crotch in favour of resting his head against Phil's thigh.

"Absolutely perfect."

And when Phil says it, Clint believes every word.


End file.
